My Messy Home Used to Drive Me Crazy Until I Had A Life-Changing Revelation

It was late when I got home, and I sank onto the couch, kicking off my shoes.

As I glanced around the living room and into the adjoining playroom, I realized that I was in the atmosphere I had often dreamed of as I was in the throes of mothering two small children – a quiet space, a home that was clean and had been clean for days.

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But I desperately wanted the noise and the mess back.

It was days into my daughter's hospitalization last summer—she was undergoing multiple surgeries dealing with complications from the removal of a gastrointestinal tube that had provided her nutrition for nearly two years of her life.

My husband, Evan, and I had fallen into something that resembled a ritual. Our 5-year-old son Connor was spending most of the time with family and friends while Evan and I were at the hospital all day, every day. At night, Evan sacrificed his own sleep and comfort and all but forced me to go home to sleep in our bed. So I would rub my daughter Brenna's back and hold her hand until she drifted off into a restless and uncomfortable sleep, then rush home to bed – to my own restless sleep, full of worry – and wake up to head to the hospital and do it all over again.

Courtesy of Courtney Westlake

My home was quiet and organized each evening because it was unused and untouched by the people I love most. Untouched because they weren't there.

The messes are what make memories. The messes are what help us to connect as a family.

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And suddenly, I loved my messy home. Suddenly, I loved the scattered toys, the snack plates on the kitchen table crusted with leftover food, and the little shoes that I tripped over as I walked.

The mess means that our home is full, that we are making memories, and that we are spending time together.

What I realized is this: Even though I need moments of solitude and quiet, a house that stays too quiet and too organized is an empty home.

I never want a home so pristine that we fail to enjoy it. I would regret if my children said things like, "Mom never let us get out the paint or Play-Doh because it made such a big mess." The messes are what make memories. The messes are what help us to connect as a family. And the messes afford us the opportunity to teach responsibility and respect for what we have.

My life feels abundantly more beautiful when I notice the dinosaur figures standing up on the breakfast bar in the kitchen, or the pair of jeans strewn on the floor instead of folded and put in the closet.

Recently, we had friends over for a play date, which turned into an impromptu dinner. Pizzas were ordered and the kids stayed up past their bedtimes. Everyone pitched in for a quick clean-up before goodbyes were said, but there were still several piles of toys left unattended. Instead of worrying about the remaining mess, I found myself walking past the toys, thankful instead for an especially fun afternoon with the people we love.

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